WILD FLOWERS. 115 
The Anemone. 
Tht charm, pale, modest, timid one, 
Is this, that thou dost ever shun 
The public walk, and to the sun 
Dost show an open heart, 
Which does not fear the brightest ray 
That’s darted from the eye of day, 
Will aught of secret stain betray, 
Or find a double part. 
And thou hast never been beguiled 
To quit the simple, quiet wild, 
Where nature placed her modest child 
To worship her alone. 
Thou dost not ask the brow of toil 
To shed its costly dew, to spoil 
The bed of free, untortured soil, 
Which thou hast made thine own. 
And now, if I were hence to take 
Thee, root and stem, it would but make 
